


Strangers in the Night

by Leslie_Knope



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (just saying), Blow Jobs, Car Sex, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Smut, you might want to read all the way to the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 12:22:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11805924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leslie_Knope/pseuds/Leslie_Knope
Summary: The back of Stiles’ neck is hot.His skin is prickling, he wants to squirm, and so he’s pretty sure that someone is staring at him. He twists a little, trying to look smooth and disinterested, and spots a tall, bearded guy by the far wall, his eyes fixed on the bar. His gaze is sharp and intense, Stiles can tell even from this distance, and he’s just leaning against the wall like he owns it, with dark hair and tight jeans and broad shoulders encased in a leather jacket.Oh, god, is he hot. He can’t be looking atStiles, can he?





	Strangers in the Night

The back of Stiles’ neck is hot.

His skin is prickling, he wants to squirm, and so he’s pretty sure that someone is staring at him. He twists a little, trying to look smooth and disinterested, and spots a tall, bearded guy by the far wall, his eyes fixed on the bar. His gaze is sharp and intense, Stiles can tell even from this distance, and he’s just leaning against the wall like he owns it, with dark hair and tight jeans and broad shoulders encased in a leather jacket.

Oh, god, is he hot. He can’t be looking at _Stiles_ , can he?

Before Stiles can get his hopes up, he turns, a little too quickly, back toward the bar. Staring at that guy too long will probably just ruin him for anyone else, ever, so he attempts to distract himself with his drink. The end of his scotch and soda is a little watered down, but he finishes it in one long swallow and sets it down on the bar with more force than he intended. He crunches on an ice cube and then nearly chokes on it in surprise when someone steps up behind Stiles, a little closer than is necessary for the current crowd level.

Just from the way that Stiles’ pulse spikes suddenly, he doesn’t need to turn around to know who it is. He double-checks, though, just a little glance over his shoulder, and bites back an elated grin when he catches a glimpse of that strong bearded jaw.

“Hi.”

The guy’s voice isn’t as low as Stiles would have expected, but it’s _nice_ , and he suppresses a shiver only by the sheer force of god. He shifts a bit as he twists to face the guy, moving slightly more into his space as if by accident, but he doesn’t budge, doesn’t step back an inch to give Stiles any more room. Okay, so that’s what this is about. Fucking awesome.

“Hi there.”

Stiles’ voice comes out raspy in a good way, nerves not betraying him for _once_ , and he does a mental fist pump. His tongue darts out to wet his lower lip, and the guy’s eyes flick down for a second before coming back up. Their gazes lock, for far longer than would be appropriate for polite company.

Well, it’s not like anything that Stiles wants to do with this guy could be classified as _polite_ , anyway.

The guy’s smile—more of a smirk, honestly—is sly and a little sneaky, as if he knows exactly how big of an effect he’s having on Stiles. Hell, he probably does. Stiles doesn’t even care if he’s a cliché, if this dude picks up a different guy in this bar every night of the week, because he is just that motherfucking attractive. Stiles can handle it if he gets to get all up on _that_.

“Could I buy you a drink?”

One of the guy’s hands rests casually on the bar, boxing Stiles in slightly, and he swallows as he stares at it, thinking about his options. He doesn’t usually…this isn’t exactly his forte, hasn’t been for a long time, but he’s certainly capable of being forward when he wants to. He swallows again for courage. “Actually, how about we just skip the drink?”

His eyebrows lift, clearly surprised, but Stiles holds his gaze, smiling a little. The guy’s smirk morphs into a true grin, clearly delighted, before he schools it back down. Stiles is ridiculously, hopelessly charmed.

But _that_ is not the point here, not at all, so he firmly shoves it out of his mind. _Sex_ , he reminds himself. All he wants—all they _both_ want—is sex.

“Yeah, absolutely.” He takes his hand off the bar and drifts a little closer to Stiles. “You wanna…get out of here, then?”

Yes, Stiles absolutely does.

They pick their way through the crowd toward the door, and Stiles wants to jump up and down and shout, _look who I’m leaving with, look how hot he is_!

He manages to refrain, somehow, and he sighs when they get outside, the cool night air a relief against his overheated skin. He’s afraid that it might get a little awkward now, now that they’re out of the heated, oversexed atmosphere of the bar, but he feels warm all over when he sneaks a look and sees those intense eyes sweeping over him, completely shameless. Green? Stiles guesses that they’re green. He’ll have to get a closer look later.

The guy leads him to a sleek black Camaro, which—it figures. Hot car for a hot guy. Stiles would roll his eyes at the predictability of it all, if only it weren’t so goddamn _hot_. Fuck.

He gets a hand on the driver’s side door handle, but Stiles reaches out and snags one of his belt loops. He turns around, eyes questioning, and Stiles summons enough courage to shake his head. “Backseat.”

His eyes widen, just a touch, and his steely exterior cracks, as if Stiles surprised him. Which was exactly his intent. “You don’t wanna go someplace?” he asks, and Stiles snorts.

“If you think I’m getting into a car with a total stranger, you’re insane.” The guy’s eyebrows go up, a little too sassily in Stiles’ opinion, and he makes a face in response. “Shut up. You know what I mean. I’m not gonna _go_ anywhere.”

With a little grin, the guy pulls open the door, tugs the front seat forward, and makes a gallant gesture. “After you, then.”

Stiles clambers in and sends a silent _thank you_ to his past self for deciding on his tightest jeans. “Ah, such a gentleman as you usher me into the backseat of your car.”

“Hey.” The guy tumbles in behind him, far more graceful that he has any right to be, and doesn’t even pretend that he wasn’t staring at Stiles’ ass. Good man, Stiles respects that. “You’re the one who wouldn’t even let me buy him a drink first.”

“Well this is worth a lot more than a shitty four-dollar beer, anyway,” Stiles retorts, gesturing to himself. The eyebrows lift again—goddamn, those babies are expressive—and Stiles winces. “Shit. Can we just…pretend that didn’t make me sound like a hooker?”

“Whatever you want,” he says, his voice silky smooth, and Stiles swallows.

This is _probably_ not the wisest course of action for a deputy to take, public sex and all, but they’re in the back corner of a dark parking lot, with tinted windows. They should be fine. And worst case scenario, if a cop catches them, it’ll be someone Stiles knows. Which means he’ll endure vicious, relentless teasing until the day he dies, but at least they won’t get arrested. So all in all, a calculated risk.

“This isn’t one of those, like, no-kissing kind of deals, right? Because I—”

The guy lunges across the seat, catching Stiles around the back of the neck with one warm hand and yanking him close until their lips crash together. Stiles makes a noise that he would generously describe as _undignified_ , but he catches up in about half a second.

Fuck, he’s a good kisser. Stiles isn’t too shabby, either, thank you very much, and the kiss keeps switching, desperate and hard and then languid and thorough and back again. Without breaking the kiss, Stiles sidles closer and swings a leg over the guy’s thighs to straddle his lap.

Stiles is too tall to be doing this, honestly, especially in the backseat of a fucking Camaro, but he likes it anyway, mostly because of the way the guy has to reach up and chase him with his mouth. It allows for easier groping, anyway, and it turns out Stiles would endure basically any kind of uncomfortable position in exchange for the greedy way that this guy is clutching at his ass.

Finally the guy pulls back, his mouth red and wet and his carefully-gelled hair in complete disarray thanks to Stiles’ hands. “What—what do you want?”

He sounds unhinged already, hoarse and fucked-out, and Stiles grins, sharp. “I wanna suck you off.”

His Adam’s apple bobs, his mouth open just far enough to show the edges of his front teeth. “Fuck.”

“No, I said I wanna _suck you off_.” He grins again as the guy laughs, dropping his head back against the seat. “This backseat is way too small, and I’m spoiled, I like to fuck in beds. Plus, there’s no fucking way you’ve got lube anywhere in those tight pants.”

“Are you complaining about my pants?”

“I am complaining about the fact that they’re still _on_. Jesus, dude, did you not hear me that I wanna suck your dick? Do I have to do all the work?”

The guy’s hands drop immediately from Stiles’ ass to his own belt, and Stiles notices with a not-small amount of pride that his fingers are most definitely shaking. Stiles could help him out, but he scoots backward and watches instead.

His staring definitely gets noticed, and the guy’s hands steady, slowing down as he teases Stiles, fiddling with his button before finally undoing it and then inching the zipper down, one tick at a time.

It’s working, too well, and Stiles’ breath is coming out in surely-unattractive pants. He doesn’t budge, though, just tightens his hands on his own thighs, and the guy laughs.

Finally his pants are undone and open, and since it’s been about two minutes too long since they kissed, Stiles takes care of that first. He slides his hands up his chest—definitely firm, nice—and over his shoulders, under the leather jacket.

“As hot as this is,” he mumbles against the guy’s lips, “take it off.”

He obeys with a speed that would make Stiles laugh in any other situation, and Stiles takes it from him and tosses it in the driver’s seat. It’s expensive, surely, and he probably wouldn’t appreciate getting come on it.

Then those big hands are on his ass again, squeezing and sliding up his back, and Stiles has to pull back from the kiss for a quick breath. He busies himself with shirt buttons in the meantime.

The guy leans forward and moves as if to take off his shirt, but Stiles shoves him back against the seat with one hand. “No, stay like that.”

Stiles rearranges the shirt so that it hangs open, showcasing the guy’s chest and his _very_ nice abs, Jesus.

“You really have a plan here.”

“Are you complaining?” Stiles asks, arching one eyebrow, and the guy swallows as he shakes his head.

Stiles contorts himself onto the floor, between the guy’s legs. There’s not exactly a lot of room down here, but he makes it work—the weird aches and pains he’ll have tomorrow will totally be worth it.

He rearranges the guy, shamelessly groping his ass while he pulls him a little closer to the edge of the seat and yanks his jeans down. Black Calvin Klein briefs, _obviously_ , but Stiles shoves those away, too, and licks his lips, his mouth watering already.

Fuck, that’s a nice dick.

The guy laughs suddenly, a breathless little noise, and Stiles realizes that he might’ve said that last part out loud. Whoops.

“Whatever, I stand by it,” he mutters, and then guy’s voice cuts off suddenly, flatteringly, when Stiles ducks down and sucks half of his dick into his mouth.

He tries to go slow, tease him and draw it out, but this isn’t exactly the setting for that. And Stiles doesn’t have the best impulse control anyway, not when he’s feeling so powerful with this willing, eager body underneath him.

It’s clearly working, too, based on all the noise coming from above him. Which is awesome, seriously—Stiles’ ego is doing _so_ well tonight—but they’re in public and probably shouldn’t be drawing extra attention to themselves.

Stiles pulls back with a gasp, curving his palm over the head in a way that makes the guy squirm. He reaches up with his free hand and paws at the guy’s face. “Shh,” he whispers, and that’s all he gets out before dipping back down again. He lets his hand drift down, settling on that stomach because those are insanely nice abs, and they deserve to be touched.

But Stiles is hard in his pants, uncomfortably so, more than he usually gets from blowing someone. He regretfully lets his hand slide from the guy’s abs after a minute and reaches down to undo his own pants, sighing a little just from the release of pressure. He curls his hand around himself, matching the rhythm he’s got going with his mouth, and groans.

Good, solid, vanilla-ish sex is more than enough to keep Stiles happy, but he can’t deny the extra thrill of being on his knees in the backseat of a Camaro, in a public parking lot, with a stranger’s dick in his mouth.

“Don’t come,” the guy orders, complete with a sharp tug on Stiles’ hair. _Fuck_ , that’s hot. He makes a disagreeable noise but obediently pries his hand off his own dick.

The guy’s getting loud again, but he’s clearly trying to muffle it, biting down on his own lip and shifting restlessly, although he doesn’t thrust up. “Hey, I’m—I’m gonna come, fuck.”

He arches his back with a whine and tugs on Stiles’ hair again, but he stubbornly stays put. He makes a bit of a mess of it instead, mostly by accident—swallowing some, some spilling out the corners of his mouth, a few stray streaks on his cheek—but from the choked-off, desperate noises, the guy doesn’t exactly mind.

Stiles’ knees are aching, his legs asleep in random places, but he lets the guy haul him back up onto his lap, a hand on Stiles’ jaw as he draws him into a ferocious kiss. It’s insanely good, especially with the guy’s desperate whimpers as he comes down, but Stiles also needs to come, like, yesterday.

He grinds forward inelegantly, pressing his boxers-clad dick against this guy’s insane abs, and honestly, give him a minute or two of this and he’d be good. The guy pushes him back, though, just a little, and worms his big hand in between their bodies before shoving Stiles’ boxers down.

The grip, the speed, it’s all _perfect_ , exactly how he likes it, and Stiles sighs in relief. He probably moans a little, too, but at least now their noises are mostly muffled into the kiss, which is at the moment more of a desperate, panting press of lips. He’s so close, he’s probably going to fucking cry.

He rips his mouth away a minute later, gasping for breath, and the guy’s lips go straight for his neck. He’s leaving a mark, Stiles can tell, and while he knows that’s not very classy, someone needs to tell his dick because at the moment he’s tilting his head to the side and practically whining for it. God his teeth feel good, scraping just a little, and Stiles’ eyes squeeze shut.

“Fuck, man, c’mon, I’m…I’m gonna come, shit.” The words are spilling out of him, slurred and mostly incoherent, and it’s all he can do to keep sucking in enough air to keep the black spots away. “C’mon, please, just a little—”

His hand tightens, right on cue, and Stiles comes with a whimpering rush, shivering and biting down on the guy’s ear so that he doesn’t cry out and alert the whole fucking town to what they’re doing. He tips forward, suddenly exhausted, and lazily ruts against the guy’s stomach as the aftershocks roll through him.

The guy is saying something, Stiles is pretty sure, but at the moment he can’t hear anything over the roaring in his ears. He’s moving, though, and next thing he knows they’re horizontal, squeezed in together on the seat, and there’s a soothing hand in his hair.

His body finally calms, after what feels like an eternity, and then the only noise in the car is their panting.

After another little yank on Stiles’ hair, he exhales, relaxing even further.

“Hey.”

Stiles scoots closer with an indulgent smile and presses sloppy kisses to whatever skin is closest. “Hey, stranger.”

“That was fun,” Derek says, and Stiles murmurs his assent into his chest before finally lifting his head and opening his eyes.

“Fun is an understatement,” he says with a smirk, patting Derek’s sticky stomach, and Derek laughs. “What time is it?”

“Not 11 yet. We still have 15 minutes before we told Annie we’d be home.”

Stiles yawns and nods, twisting his neck until it cracks. He reaches under the passenger seat for the package of wet wipes. “I got a text from her a while ago, she said that Henry was being fussy but finally went down.”

“Good. Hopefully he’ll take mercy on us and let us sleep in past five,” Derek says. Stiles snorts at that, because fat chance, and Derek noses at his cheek until he obediently tilts his face up for a kiss, gentle and soft. “Love you.”

“Love you, too. Let’s go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> ;)
> 
> I'm [leslieknopeismyshiningstar](http://leslieknopeismyshiningstar.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr!


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